The Broken Glass Slipper
by Juliet Spades
Summary: He made a big mistake. A retelling of Cinderella, my way.
1. Awakening

Broken Glass Slipper

Broken Glass Slipper.

Chapter One: Awakening

It was her doctor that told me. He said that she was running, and running fast. He mentioned that it was a driver that had swerved to keep from hitting an abandoned dog, and she was running blindly toward it in the black sweatshirt.

My eyes had instantaneously whipped to her blood stained sweatshirt on the table next to her little army-esque cot. And it felt like a stab in the heart.

I had given it to her a few weeks before I broke it off.

"She was crying heavily, it must have been why she couldn't see the lights. It wasn't her fault," Dr. Clubs sighed, shaking her brunette hair around. The long pony tail it had hung high and tightly in was now lopsided from the immense care she had tried to save her from dying.

My eyes once again shifted to her broken form, and I cringed mentally.

"It's all my fault," I heard her mom blubber in the corner, being comforted by her other children. They were shaking their heads, just trying to keep Mrs. Cinders from throwing her self down on the floor and committing some act of harm to her own body. "I had worked her too hard! I shouldn't have- This wouldn't have- She should have-"

The helpless victim of the situation was lying stiffly on the bed, needles poking in and out of her arm, a bloody scratch on her cheek, traveling down and reaching her neck, traveling dangerously close to her throat. I traced the cut with my eyes, praying it wouldn't kill her.

"I'm sorry to say, but there's not really much I can do," Dr. Clubs sighed angrily. "She's got to pull through."

"Thank you doctor," her step sister rang out, "I will just take poor little mom home." You could have almost mistaken her for sympathetic if you didn't know her that well. "We'll be back, little sister." Out of no where, a tear ran down Nat's cheek, and another pang of guilt ran through my heart. Natalie had meant it. She really had meant it. I couldn't believe it.

"No, NO!" I heard Mrs. Cinders yelling as Reilly and Natalie pulled her away from the scene.

I wondered if this was somehow karma for the rest of us, if we deserved this in some sick, twisted way. We had all wronged her, and we had all made her like more unbearable then anyone could really take. And now our one payback from fate had slapped us coldly in the face, and she was intertwined with it. She shouldn't have been involved in our reality check. It wasn't fair! She didn't deserve this anymore!

A monitor with a green screen told me that she was alive, if just for another second. The doctor explained that it would only speed up if she started to stir, and if it slowed down, we were in trouble.

Was fate playing with that too? Was it going to slow it down and make us tip off the edge, or speed up then slow down again? Was this some sort of mind game that was falling upon us like rain from a parched sky?

"You want some time alone?" my thoughts were interrupted by Dr. Clubs.

I nodded slowly, just once. My eyes hadn't really left the bloody sweatshirt. I heard the door clicked shut. I could only smile grimly when I remember the way she had received that. It was really a miracle she found my sweatshirt in that pile of stolen clothes being returned to the kids at school. So miraculous, I let her keep it. It was vicuna, and my family owned the plant mill, so when she heard she could keep it, her smile broke out into the biggest smile I had ever seen in my life. I couldn't believe how radiant someone who lived like her could actually be.

I think that's when I realized that she was beautiful.

Not that I hadn't realized it before. It was now just really, really evident. I couldn't believe that someone in her position of step-slave to her brother and sister was so sweet to the world, and didn't hold too much a grudge to the rest of the world.

And how, even though she was forced to do so many chores to earn her tuition at Castle Academy, she still wrote so brilliantly, I couldn't push the poems out of my head for days. I remembered a particular phrase.

Fairytales turn into nightmares

As you've turned into mine

Into a mirror of them all

With heat and twisted frames

It shattered long ago

A cascade from Heaven to Hell

That you've left me with

Dare me to dream

Because I'm scared to scream

For all these secrets held inside

I don't remember how she came up with it, but I remember finding it in her notebook a long time ago. It was the first poem I had read of hers. But this one had stuck with me the best; it was etched soundly in my mind.

I had wanted to know her secrets.

My eyes slid from the jacket to the plastic seat next to her bed.

It took all my energy to push myself closer to her, closer to her beauty, closer to her intelligence, closer to her lifeless expression.

I took a seat next to her, and let out my breath slowly.

"Come back to me, Ella Cinders," I whispered.

And the monitor stayed at the same slow steady beat that it had always been at.


	2. Sentimancy

Sentimancy

Sentimancy

The chair was cold, hard, yellow plastic, the four big don'ts of comfort. I didn't grimace though. In fact, I doubt I even really noticed. The minour upset that would rumble through my mind was nothing that Ella was going through.

I could just imagine her running blindingly through the night, trying to get away from her house, from everything she had to bear. The fact that I was not talking to her like the big jackass that I was, the fact that her mother wouldn't stop yelling, and the fact that her brother Reilly and her sister Natalie were placed way before her in her family tree. They were said to be smarter, and more artistic and more athletic.

It wasn't hard to hear them from next door; even her room was three stories below mine. Her mother yelled loud and clear.

Of course, I might have had my window open, listening to her singing. It was actually really nice. It was like a thin string of crystal, and I could see the stars practically begging her to continue when she stopped. They stopped twinkling so bright, and seemed to linger for longer amounts of time over her house.

I was always surprised to hear her sing, even when she was sick. It was like a free concerto every night at 10:30. I don't know what she was doing during that time, but I do know that she was concentrating on her actual singing. She'd break in the middle of the note, and start again from a few chords prior.

I wasn't some creepy stalker, not in the slightest. I hadn't talked to her for the three years I had lived in the house next door. My house was the big one on the block, completely synonymous to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. It was big, and white, with pillars. My parents are diplomats, and they really liked the look of the White House.

It was more embarrassing then anything, really.

But Ella's was big, too, and a pale shade of yellow- much more on the down side. She lived on the bottom floor, which had the smallest rooms. I had always wondered why, I mean, they had about half a dozen master guest rooms (or so Riley had told my brother Seth).

I sighed out loud, and touched the metal frame of the bed. It was cold, too cold. I snatched my hand away and took in a sharp breathe of air. Didn't hospitals know how to take care of patients?! She didn't have to die of brain damage; she could die of hyperthermia in these conditions!

Calm, I thought. Charlie, you need to calm down. Maybe you should just stop freaking out. This is a hospital, not some sort of death camp. I took a deep breath, and let it rush out in a whirlwind of anxiety.

My eyes ran over her face, and I looked at my hands in guilt. They could do something to make this better, couldn't they? Yes. I slowly stood up and walked toward the thermostat. It was on 55 degrees Fahrenheit. I turned it up 65, just to be on the safe side. The whir of the machine mixed with the steady beeping of her life support machine. With one foot in front of the other, I placed myself back in the chair.

Did I somehow have anything to do with the fact that Ella Cinders was stiffly perched in this cold metal frame cot? If I hadn't been such a complete idiot, would she instead have been in my, Charlie Prince's, arms? It must have been my fault. It had to have been.

My eyes traveled toward her hands. They had been rough looking, but extremely soft. A small fragment of her nail was missing, and the already chipped 'glass' nail polish was gone.

"I like it chipped," she had informed me when I noted it, offering to get her the best manicure I could find. "It reminds me that the best presents come in terrible wrapping paper."

And I had slipped her hand in mine, letting it press against my palms. They were like satin against raw wood- cooling and silky. She had looked up at me with a face of indescribable emotion. Pure joy. She was like an angel. And it made me feel like the beast, and I was trapping Belle in my unruly ballroom, watching her figure everything out.

I glanced at her face again against my will; I hadn't been meritable enough to see it. I was surprised at what I saw. It was so serene; nothing like it should be depicted. Her long, dark eyelashes rested against her now pale cheeks. They covered the bright celery eyes in what seemed like a trap.

I remember those eyes sweeping over the city while sitting on my Camaro. They had been so excited, never having been to that site ever. It had made me smile so wide, and I had been so happy that I found her. She was brilliant, and beautiful, and funny, and it had been the first time that I had ever seen so much amazement in one glance. It had practically knocked me off my own spot on the car.

"Thanks," she had said, wrapping herself deeper in the vicuna material. "For this, for the view, for everything. I didn't know the world was so pretty."

"It's no problem," I had mumbled, watching her smile radiantly. I had felt humbled for one of the first times in my life. "Just ask, anytime. Well, almost anytime, because you need your beauty sleep-! Not that you need it, because you're really beautiful already and-"

"Charlie." She had cut me off. "I understand. Don't try and freak out, insults don't really affect me."

Maybe that's why I had to break it off. She seemed so perfect and I was nothing but the rich boy next door, whose parents were stuck up. She deserved a lot better. I still hadn't figured it out myself.

It had been only two days ago. She had been taking a walk, and I pulled up behind her in the Camaro. She was looking at me with big eyes.

_"Hop in!" I smiled widely._

_She did not respond, but attacked me with big tears that rolled down the corner of her cheek._

_"What's wrong?" I had asked, watching as she had tilted her head to one side. I tried to reach for her, but she pressed herself against the wall on the opposite side of the sidewalk._

_"Why?" she said softly. "Why did you do that?"_

_"Do what?" I asked, trying to hope that she would take it back. I had hoped she hadn't heard the comment I made. She started to walk along the street again, as closely to the wall as she could._

_"Elle!" I jumped out of the car, not caring if it was still running. "Wait!"_

_She ran as fast as she could, ripping off something, and throwing it on the ground before disappearing behind the wall and into the abyss of someone's garden. I walked toward the thing, and saw it was the necklace I had given her. The one with the small silver tiara and two hearts._

_I couldn't bear it, and chased after her. "Elle!"_

_I saw her sitting on the bench beside a wishing well. She glanced up when she heard my footsteps. I could see the fear in her eyes, a tiny line of black running down her cheek as the mascara she had worn specially for that day washed off slowly. _

_"Ella Gabrielle Cinders! What do you think your doing?!" I yelled. "Why are you acting like this?!"_

_"As if you don't know, Charles Anthony Prince!" she snapped, "I heard the comment."_

_My face drained of colour. I had really hoped she hadn't. It was make one small comment, or lose my place at home. I would have been kicked out, living on the streets. Nothing that Seth could do, although he was twiddling his thumbs nervously in the background._

_"You lied to me, Charles!" she screamed. "I had trusted you!" She ripped a small rose off the bush next to her, and I winced as I saw the cuts on her fingers. "You said that you would never lie about this!" One of the petals was thrown to the ground. "You insisted, even though I said it was okay!" Another petal floated to the ground. "And you told your own parents that you never loved me, and that you just wanted to see if you could make some pauper fall in love with you?!"_

_The whole rose was thrown at the ground, and red petals scattered. Her blue Chuck was ripping what was left by rubbing her toes into it. A spot of blood hit the fabric, and rolled down to the rubber._

_"I would have been kicked out!" I yelled back, my temper rolling overboard._

_"Well," her voice had dropped to a venomous undertone. "I now know that your loyalties rest with your mother who thinks I'm some pauper and that you told me you _didn't even like_, instead of me. Your so called 'best friend' and the one 'you couldn't live without'!"_

_"Why would I ever say that?!" I screamed at her, taking a step toward her. "Do you think that someone would ever fall in love with the laughingstock of Castle Academy?!"_

The moment I had said those words, I had regretted it. I had watched her blankly stop, falling backwards in total shock of what I had said.

The rest was a blur. I was practically lamenting with apologies, saying it was not true. I remember briefly me trying to hug her, and her stumbling away, running with blind fury away. And I was too shocked to do anything.

I had walked home in silence, and my mother had lectured me on leaving my car on the street with the motour running. But instead, I paced in my room, waiting for 10:30 to come. Just waiting for her voice, some sort of hint that we would forget this.

But instead, at 10:30, I heard her mother's voice earsplitting anger from the closed window, and her step-siblings snickers as they yelled at her for forgetting to do some chore.

And when the yelling stopped, instead of the voice I longed for most, I heard the quiet crying of one sad gorgeous girl crying for everything she thought she was- a laughingstock, and a bad daughter.

I couldn't help but start to tear up myself.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep…Beep…. Beep……Beep……….Beep………_


End file.
